Blank no Go
by Shizuka Sen
Summary: Hikaru dreams that he never existed after pondering his own worth on the anniversary of Sai's disappearance. At first, it seems as if his friends would live fine lives without him, but this perception eventually begins to change. Prologue, 6 ch, epilogue.
1. Prologue

Blank no Go

Because Yui-Mag thought this was an interesting concept, here we go. I mentioned in a review to Yui-Mag's fics (which I highly encourage you to try, as the Hikaru no Go angst ones are superb) that I would enjoy seeing a story in which Hikaru never lived, which I referred to as "Blank no Go." As this idea was approved by both Yui-Mag (who asked me to write it) and Pure Shikon, and so the story was born. (Also, I worked out the specifics while trying to nap before the midnight premiere of_ Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. In my opinion, it was the best of the five. What does everybody else think?) Anyway, I apologize for the long author's note. Please realize that this chapter is just to set everything up and that I sincerely hope the rest of the story will be much better. WARNING: This story is set around three years after the anime. If you have not gotten that far and encounter a spoiler, you have been forewarned! Rated T to be safe. Also, the standard disclaimer: _I do not own Hikaru no Go, as it belongs to Ms. Yumi Hotta and Mr. Takeshi Obata (who is also the artist of Death Note, which I was addicted to recently). If I did, the series would probably be titled Akira no Go, and Sai would still be around. Capisce? Wakarimasu ka? Good, good._

On with the story!

Prologue: Blank

It was the fifth of May. Thank God he didn't have a match scheduled; he would have skipped it. He instead took a day trip to Innoshima, returning later at night, thoroughly and completely depressed.

He finally turned on his cell phone; he had remembered too late that he had scheduled a game with Touya at the other pro's salon today. Oh, he was going to get chewed out for being irresponsible, or unpuncutal, or forgetful, or _something_ – probably a word he had never even heard of that Touya had learned from reading the dictionary.

There were no messages. He stared at the phone in shock. There was no scathing rebuke from Touya, no calls from Waya or Isumi, no concerned you-haven't-been-around-lately-are-you-ok messages from Akari, _nothing_. Someone might have noticed he was gone! _Someone_ might have realized he always mysteriously disappeared on May fifth.

He tried to convince himself this was just the product of his grief from losing Sai four years before. He entered his house; it was dark. His parents had left him a note saying that they had gone out for dinner. So they hadn't called either.

No, that was being unfair. He rarely responded when they left him messages, so why _would_ they call? There was really no reason to.

He went upstairs to bed and fell asleep quickly.

When he was there, it was as if he heard his friends' voices.

"I could've survived without you, Hikaru," Akari's said, sounding exasperated – as if he had just been rude to her and she was responding thoughtlessly.

"Shindou-kun, really, you _don't_ need to do that. You shouldn't be here if you're even trying it," Tsutsui Kimihiro's reprimanded – the original sentence was probably in response to a stunt he had pulled, like trying to balance a Go board on his head. But in this dream, it cut into him tangibly.

"Why the heck did you drag me here in the first place? I don't need your help!" Mitani Yuki's, obviously in response to his returning the other boy's money after having him join Haze's Go club.

"Geez, Shindou, why are you even here?" Waya's questioned, with Isumi's assent in the background. Definitely a hard critique on a stupid move he had made once.

"Hikaru, I really don't know why I came to possess you and not a Go player," Sai had answered his question once. But now it was accusing, hateful.

"Shindou, just _leave_!" Touya was shouting. They had been yelling at each other for nearly ten minutes over something stupid when the other pro had screamed that at him. At present, however –

"I know," he heard himself whispering. "But…really?"

"Yes, we would have lived our lives and been fine, had you never been here," Akari's voice responded, sounding unlike her usual self but close enough to be real, "Let me show you…."

(I realize Hikaru is sounding kind of emo, but I don't think he's ever quite gotten over Sai's disappearance. I don't think he ever truly will. I also needed a good excuse to write this story. The one I came up with may not be stellar, but…I have a feeling the succeeding chapters will speak for themselves. There will be six chapters following this and an epilogue, hopefully updated weekly. Please review! Especially if you don't like it: constructive criticism is very important to me. Thank you very much!)


	2. I: Fujisaki Akari

(These chapters will start out short, getting longer progressively as there is more story to tell after each. The more each character needs Hikaru, the longer and more detailed the chpaters get. I have written chapter…six, I think, and that one's _long_. Again, I don't own Hikaru no Go. So don't erase my fics. Please continue to read – especially this fic! Thanks!)

Chapter One: Fujisaki Akari

He could see his own house, the one three doors down from Akari's. His parents were talking to hers, but neither Akari nor he was there. Well, of course he wasn't there, this was about if he had never lived, right?

"Oh, no, we don't have any children," his mother said. "We just moved into the neighborhood, but we did see a little girl in your yard…."

"Oh, that's Akari," her mother said. "She's such a sweet little thing, but she's off playing with Touta-kun right now. He lives on the next block. They're so close, it's cute. They play all the time."

"If you ever need any help, let me know," urged his mother. "I've always wanted a child, but…things haven't worked out."

"Thank you," said her mother. "I'll bring Akari over later to meet you."

"That would be lovely…."

Elementary school, sixth grade. Touta was competely into karate and was looking forward to joining a middle school team next year.

Akari, of course, had to do everything Touta did. She took lessons, too, but she was miserable at it. Still, Touta was kind and generous, and did not point out how horrible she was. Instead, he let her try to fight him, and eventually they would give it up and collapse into a laughing heap on one of their lawns.

On Valentine's Day, she gave Touta chocolate and a good-luck card for his upcoming match. He accepted them gracefully and returned the favor on White Day, even sending a bouquet of flowers to her house so she could be surprised when she came home.

The two seemed to get along perfectly, even when Touta was often gone for a few days for a match in different areas of the country. He was becoming more known in the world of martial arts, and was even learning judo now. Even though he was gone, he called her at least once a week to ask how she was and if school was going well.

Akari confided her dreams to Touta, which included getting married, having children, and later in life traveling the world. He, in turn, told her his: to become one of the most famous martial artists of their time. The two admitted that Akari's was more probable, but both were excited for Touta's own bright future.

Touta was intelligent, physically gifted, and – above all – very kind. He was considerate to Akari despite their longer separations, especially when they attended different high schools. Still, once a month they would still do something together, like go to a park or the movies.

Eventually, Akari attended college while Touta was on trips abroad. He had become one of the more famous Asian martial artists now, and was considering opening a school back in Japan. When he was in his mid-twenties, he did just that.

The moment his place landed, Akari knew. He had called her right after his parents, after all. He inquired into her health and her new job as a secretary in a large corporation. Akari told him all was well – and she had just moved back into the neighborhood where they grew up.

He visited her there, and they went out for a nice dinner. Touta insisted on paying, even after apologizing for his long absence. He earnestly said that he hoped he hadn't hurt her feelings for not keeping in touch as well as he could have.

Akari was shocked. Touta had unfailingly called once every two weeks. He was as reliable as the clock. She said so, and Touta had asked if she would like to help around the dojo he was opening once in a while. Then, afterwards, he could take her out for something nice again. Akari had smiled, and accepted.

No one was surprised when they announced their engagement two years later, of course. They had gotten along perfectly since the age of four (when they learned how to share) and had kept in touch over the long years.

Akari did achieve her dream of a happy marriage and wonderful children, and Touta became the top karate instructor in Japan. Later, when the children were grown up and did have jobs, more than enough money had been set aside for touring the world. Touta had remembered, and had made sure to put aside some of his income every year for just that purpose.

When Akari finally died in a peaceful sleep after a life of happiness, she was content. And Shindou Hikaru had never existed, not for one second.

It had been short, a blur of life. No real dialogue, more like a slideshow of how Fujisaki Akari's life was great without him. He tried to convince himself that Touta didn't exist in real life, and that was the life that mattered. Besides, what guy could be that nice? He shoved the automatic suggestion of "Touya the mature gentleman" out of his mind immediately, and turned back to trying to find a way to bash the imaginary Touta. But already he was being thrust into another scene….

(Again, please review! I know people have put this on alert, but if you could review, too….  Also, after this I might be gone for a while…but I'll try and get a chapter in by Saturday. Since I'm not sure about Internet in the next week, no guarantees, but I'll try! Starting next Sunday, however, I will be gone for two weeks with absolutely no Internet access. Gomen! And thank you again for reading!)


	3. II: Tsutsui Kimihiro

Blank no Go

I apologize for the lateness of updating. I've been gone for the past 2 weeks with no Internet access, so here is chapter two now. Also, the site is strangely not letting me put in any asterisks to separate one part of the story from another, so if the format is not quite right, please forgive me and overlook it. Please enjoy!

I'm getting kind of annoyed with disclaimers. My profile has a general one. But since I'm in the mood to "stick it to the man," here is my beautiful disclaimer:

_Watashi wa "Hikaru no Go" to iu manga/anime wo motteimasen. _

_Hotta Yumi-san to Obata Takeshi-san ga sono shiriizu wo motteimasu. _

_Kokuso shinaide kudasai. Arigatou gozaimasu._

Please continue to stick with the story! Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Two: Tsutsui Kimihiro

He vaguely wondered which of his friends was next; he had a feeling the dream was going to continue. He was right – it _was_ an old friend from his first Go club….

(Invisible Asterisks)

Tsutsui Kimihiro loved Go. It was as plain and simple as that. He had Go books, Go magazines, a Go board, and a Go club.

In theory. The last part wasn't working out that well.

He had started the Go club because he had realized he wanted to play with some others his age, not just elderly men in Go salons. Tsutsui had admitted to himself many years ago that he just did not have the skill to go professional, but he still loved the game.

His booth at the festival did not go as well as he had hoped. Most of those who approached were grandparents of the students of Haze Middle School who played Go when they had the time. No one had known how to solve the advanced Go problem, so nobody had won the book by Touya Meijin.

No one except Kaga Tetsuo, of course – he who hated Touya Akira and any mention of Go. He had come over to poke fun at his "lame little club," solved the problem with disturbing ease, and promptly destroyed the book right in front of his eyes.

Well, there went the last of the club's budget (which was meager, as it only had one member).

He continued to play for a while, but he was unable to get anyone else to join his Go club. After he was forced not to submit an entry for the tournament due to lack of team members, a teacher informed him that, regretfully, the club would have to be disbanded.

He was rather embarrassed when he later cried over it. Thank God Kaga hadn't been anywhere near. The other boy never missed an opportunity to make fun of his passion for Go.

Unfortunately, they both applied to and where accepted at the same high school. Kaga made the shougi club triumph again, easily squashing what little interest anyone had for Go.

By college, he gave up. If trying to play Go would simply torment his existence, why play? It wasn't worth it to be miserable every day over a stupid game.

He still wept when he finally came to that conclusion.

The next year, however, he got a girlfriend and she got him into movies. Go became a childhood passion, not something he ever pursued as an adult. Even when he was an older man himself, he never went to a salon. It simply did not interest him anymore; it only held memories of his awkward middle-and-high-school self.

He eventually married a nice girl who loved him, had a child (who grew up to be a successful adult), got to see his grandkids – and none of them ever cared about Go again.

It was just a game, after all. It could be given up.

(Invisible Asterisks)

Yeah, Tsutsui made it all right. Yes, he gave up something he loved, but did he not have a fine life later? Again, he was not needed. Not really….

(More Invisible Asterisks - Is anyone else having this problem?)

Again, apologies for the long wait. (I would have posted if I could.) And a short chapter, too – I know, I know. I promise chapters 4 and 5 are long-ish, and chapter 6 is blatantly long. (All but chapter 5 and the epilogue are written at this point, so future updates should be no problem as I now have reliable Internet access.)

On an unrelated note, does anyone know how to get the song "Soran Para Para" on an iPod?

THANK YOU AGAIN, and PLEASE REVIEW:)


	4. III: Mitani Yuuki

Again, here is my disclaimer: _Non ho dir__itti della pubblicazione di "Hikaru no Go." Quelli diritti appartengono a__Yumi Hotta e Takeshi Obata. Grazie._

Please enjoy the chapter; even if you don't, I would love to have a review!

(Since I'm still having a problem with asterisks...sorry! I wonder what on earth this site is doing to delete them all...)

Chapter Three: Mitani Yuuki

All right, Tsutsui's giving up on Go was sad, but his senpai could still have survived without him. He really could have. Maybe he was not needed. Maybe. The dream continued and cut off his musings, and he faded into a familiar scene….

(Yet another chapter of invisible asterisks)

"One thousand yen a game," said the drunk-looking man at the Go salon.

"You're on," a middle-school boy with bright orange hair answered.

"You got a thousand yen in cash?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go, then!"

The owner of the Go salon, Shuu, knew how it was going to end twenty minutes later. He still didn't like seeing young Mitani run out of the salon afterwards, ashamed at his loss and having to borrow twenty yen from him. It made him rather sad to think that Mitani would probably never set foot in the place again. Though it had had to be done, for the sake of the child….

Mitani Yuuki did not, as adults say, "learn his lesson." He merely went to another salon, and was much more suspicious of anyone who challenged him to a game. He was able to avoid more men like the last once, and soon he began to collect large sums again. His parents wondered where he got such money, but they were too busy with work. His older sister was also occupied with friends, her own job, and high school. No one really cared.

Eventually, he discovered an easier way to get goods and money: shoplifting and stealing. Simple – and no one found out. It was a good thrill, too, especially when he was almost caught. Sneaking into casinos and gambling had become child's play long before. But he couldn't lose: not at Go, not at life, because his skills were on his side. To hell with honor and the lot of self-righteous adults. The integrity of a certain game was not even worth mentioning.

Sooner or later, however, all good things come to an end. When he was in his first year of college, he got caught. Now, he didn't even remember what the first thing had been. He had paid his fine and gone right back to taking what he wanted. He progressed to greater heights and was connected with criminal organizations throughout the world. (No one knew how he made so much money as an office worker, but everyone was still busy and never bothered to check what he was doing, not even the police.)

He enjoyed the thrill of crime and the rewards it brought him. He had never really seen it as something "wrong." Everyone committed crimes; his just happened to be stealing and not smiling on a gloomy day. Why was everyone so hung up on the concepts of "right" and "wrong" when they did not exist?

When he was ratted out by a member of another organization, he was not surprised. After all, life was about enjoyment and satisfaction, and his arrest would give both to the one that had turned him in.

He was given a longer stint this time: two years, plus probation. Probation? It made him laugh. Honestly, did the police really think they would ever catch him on their own, without help from the yakuza?

His parents refused to contact him, but his older sister sent him a letter once a month. He was completely ostracized by the rest of his family; none of _them_ ever were juvenile delinquents turned hard-core criminals.

His sister took a different approach. She wrote to him about their grandfather, the man who had taught him Go and then died abruptly. Unfairly, she wrote, but she supposed he didn't have control. Otherwise, he never would have left Grandma, or her little brother.

He appreciated his sister's sentiments, but he supposed it was too late to change. He saw his sister sometimes, sent her gifts occasionally (making sure the money he used was not from his exploits; she deserved that much), and called her once a year. Sometimes, she was out, and he left a message, leaving no return number.

It saddened her, he knew, but heck, he was a busy man and had a meeting with one of the higher-ups in the Italian mafia at three.

When she finally died, he attended her funeral (in disguise, of course – there were so many mourning people he was never noticed anyway), although he had not been notified by the family. He had infinite connections by that time, however, and knew that she had died of a stroke before her own husband did.

The ring he was a part of got busted when he was in his sixties. Again, it came as no real surprise. This time, as a repeat offender charged and convicted of many offenses, he received twenty-seven years. He wondered sometimes, sitting there, why murderers sometimes got off with ten. Despite his connections to assassins, he had never killed anyone himself. Killing someone was certainly not on his list of honorable actions (these not-honorable actions numbered about…oh, three).

When he died in prison, he kept irony and sarcasm on his side. He joked to himself about death, about what someone could have done for him, about his own stubborness. Hell, someone might've been able to help, but he sure doubted it.

(Invisible Asterisks)

Well, yeah, he personally doubted it, too. Mitani could still become a delinquent, or a criminal, later in life, even though he had interfered and stopped him from cheating at Go (temporarily, at least). He hadn't seen Mitani for a few years, now: the other had gone to high school, he had not.

He started to wonder, however, if _maybe_, just maybe, he and Sai helping Mitani prevented all that. Perhaps he was worth something to his friends, after all…

(And the Last Set of Invisible Asterisks)

Thank you, and please review. Sorry again about the trouble with the asterisks... Strange... Also, I don't consider this to be my best work, and I apologize concerning this chapter and Tsutsui's. I wasn't fully satisfied with either. Maybe someday I'll rewrite and update. But I've written almost the whole thing now, so updating shouldn't be a problem. THANKS FOR READING!


	5. IV: Waya and Isumi

Disclaimer: If I owned _Hikaru no Go_, I would have all the manga volumes and anime DVDs in my possession. As I don't, I think it's fairly obvious that I do not own the series. It belongs to Ms. Yumi Hotta and Mr. Takeshi Obata. I wish I did own a piece of fan art entitled "Death no Go," however. I cracked up. Now I might just have to think up a way to do a Death Note-Hikaru no Go crossover….

Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Four: Waya and Isumi

Okay, now seriously, he _never_ saw Mitani anymore. Why would he even matter? Waya and Isumi were the ones he hung out with, and he had never really helped them out significantly anyway….

(The asterisks still don't work.)

Waya and Isumi were high-fiving like crazy.

"Oh yeah, we did it, Isumi-san!" Waya whooped.

"Nice to meet you, Waya 1-dan," said Isumi, inclining his head a little jokingly.

"Same to you, man," said Waya. "We passed, we passed, _yes_!"

"Things are just going to get harder now that we're pro," Isumi fretted.

"Way to throw cold water on things," Waya said. "Forget about it! We _passed_. So – why don't we go out for cheap sushi?"

"Don't tell me _I'm_ paying," said Isumi.

"You're the one who gets an allowance," Waya protested.

"Well…yes. And since I did win against you…"

"HEY!"

"My treat," Isumi decided. He paused. "Do you think we should invite Ochi?"

Waya blanched. "Why?"

"He passed, too."

"Nah," said Waya. "Let's go!"

At the restaurant, Isumi mused, "Things really are going to get harder, aren't they."

"But we're going to get way better," said Waya. "Dang it, I want to hurry up and play Touya. I'll cream him!"

"I think you're being too optimistic," Isumi said. "It's Touya. No one can beat him – no one's even close to being his rival, unless you count everybody who's a seven dan and up. He just got into the Hon'inbou League, you know."

"Don't remind me," Waya groaned. "Damn prodigy. Stick up his ass."

"_Waya_," said Isumi. "Let's just enjoy out celebrating."

"YES!" Waya said, punching the air. "WE PASSED! And seriously, Isumi-san, we _will_ kick ass."

"Hopefully."

Waya thought he looked only a little older, even though he was eighteen now. He was fairly disappointed that he wasn't as tall as Isumi yet, a fact he was constantly reminded of due to Isumi's apartment being right next door to his.

Isumi had been down lately, so Waya had taken to knocking on the other pro's apartment every night to play a few rounds and get some pizza or cheap sushi. But Isumi hadn't seemed to cheer up at all.

Waya nearly sighed as he knocked yet again. Isumi finally opened the door after he began pounding on it.

"What is it, Waya?" Isumi asked, apparently on edge. "We've both got important games tomorrow."

Waya knew and nodded his agreement. He still voiced his explanation: "You just didn't act usual today. Something bothering you?"

"No," said Isumi.

Waya stayed put. "That's BS, Isumi-san, and you know it."

"Come in if you must," Isumi relented, stepping away from the doorway.

Waya entered and flopped one of the chairs Isumi had next to his computer, bookshelves, and Go board.

"What's eating you?" he asked again.

Isumi sighed heavily as he too sat. "We've both got important games tomorrow," he repeated.

"Yeah, so what? I'm playing Saeki – but I think I might beat him. We've got a chance to advance to the next round. And it's not like we're expected to get past round two – it's the tournament for who gets to challenge Kuwabara Hon'inbou. Although if we do lose the first round tomorrow we're going to get chewed out. Or at least I am, by Morishita-sensei," said Waya.

"My opponent is Touya," Isumi said tersely. "I don't have a chance."

"That _sucks_," said Waya sympathetically. "That asshole is totally ruthless nowadays. Doesn't talk to anybody, is too damn polite–"

"_Waya_. He does so talk to people – Ogata Juudan, Ashiwara-sensei–"

"And that's it, and they're in his freaking study group! Cream him, Isumi-san! You can do it," Waya said, pounding his fist into his other hand for emphasis.

"I just feel off my game," said Isumi. "And it's been that way for months – ever since I lost _twenty_ in a row. I'm not cut out to be a pro, Waya – why did I ever try in the first place?"

"Seriously, Isumi-san, you're good," Waya assured him. "We're evenly matched. You're a three dan. C'mon. Just cause you can't beat Pretty-Prodigy-Touya–"

"I've reached a wall," Isumi interrupted. "I just keep…staying at this level. Like I've hit a never-ending plateau, or something."

"It'll end eventually," said Waya. "Just give it a few weeks. Get a couple more wins. For now, though, let's just get pizza." He whipped out his cell phone. "I've got it on speed dial."

Isumi rolled his eyes and forgot, for a moment, that he was doomed to lose the next day.

A year later, Isumi still felt he was on the plateau, despite Waya's constant pep-talks that he should be more confident and know that he was just in a phase or something.

Isumi did not believe his best friend, especially now that Waya was better than he was. It was as if he was still an insei, struggling to stay at the level he should be, not improving at all. He had thought that feeling would change after he passed the pro test.

But it had not.

His parents grew concerned when they saw him; Waya knocked on his door three times a day now – or at least called. Finally, his mother came to him with a suggestion: she and his father were planning on going to China; would he like to take a break from the regular Go schedule here and go with them?

Isumi finally decided yes, and told Waya.

"Email," his friend reminded. "And I'll call you the _minute_ I beat that damn Touya."

Isumi laughed. "All right," he said cheerfully. But in reality, he despaired for Waya, who would probably never beat Touya Akira 8-dan.

(Yes, I apologize for the asterisks.)

He had left for China with his parents the next day.

The spent the first few weeks traveling in the county, sightseeing. His Mandarin improved drastically. (He had chosen that language to study in high school and it had been rusty. Now, however, he was back to his level of near-fluency.) Finally, his parents decided to spend a month in Beijing. One day, he had nothing to do, and by chance came across the Chinese Go Association.

He hesitated for along time outside it; finally, he went inside.

"Hello," he told the receptionist. "I'm a pro visiting from Japan; I was wondering if I could watch a few games."

"Sure," he was told, and sent to the fourth floor (where the students and pros who lived in the Go Association and its surrounding buildings relaxed). He was also directed to floor two if he wanted to observe any professional games; however, there were none at this time, check back tomorrow.

He got off the elevator and opened a door to a hallway, nearly getting run over by someone a half-foot shorter than he was.

"Waya! What're you doing here?" he exclaimed in surprise (and Japanese).

The boy looked up at him and said, "Are you foreign or something?" in Mandarin.

"Oh, sorry," Isumi responded in the same language. "It's just that I'm a visiting pro from Japan, and you look _exactly_ like another pro I know, Waya 4-dan."

"LE PING! GET BACK HERE!" a voice yelled from the other end of the hallway. "YOU HAVEN'T STUDIED FOR A FULL HOUR YET! COME BACK HERE AND LOOK AT THE GAME RECOOOOOOOOOOOOOORDS!"

"Gotta run," the preteen said, smiling mischeviously as he pushed around Isumi and skipped the elevator, sprinting down the stairs instead.

An angry-looking man who looked about Isumi's age ran out of a room near the end of the corridor. "LE PI – oh, sorry, I thought you were–" he started.

"No trouble," said Isumi. "He went up on the elevator."

"Thanks," the man said, running past him and sprinting _up_ the stairs.

Isumi smiled and walked down them, intending to find this Le Ping again. He did a half-hour later, in the public playing rooms.

He sat down across from where the boy was napping and said, "Hey, are you studying to be a pro?"

"Yeah," said Le Ping, lifting his head. "I'm gonna pass this year. Who're you, anyway? You're foreign."

"I'm Isumi, and I'm visiting Beijing for a month."

"So you're Japanese? Man, they suck at Go, they lose _all_ the tournaments," Le Ping smirked. "I keep telling my friends not to get worked up over tryouts for those things. Studying's so boring. Yeah…the game's gone in Japan."

He was so like Waya, who was so brash but supportive of his friends.

"Maybe so," Isumi said, knowing that only Touya Akira and the title holders won anything internationally. "But I am a pro, you know."

"Oh? Play me, then – speed Go," Le Ping said, setting up the board. "Two seconds per move – go!" And he placed a black stone.

Isumi went back to the Chinese Go Association every day. He watched as Le Ping began to take the pro test, made friends with the other younger pros his age, and finally felt as if he were improving. So when his parents said to be ready to leave in a week, he told them he was going to play in China's professional system from now on. He was taking private Chinese lessons; he was at the college level now for his own language.

His parents had been surprised, but, since Isumi was overage, could do nothing about it. Instead, they supported him in his decision, glad to see their son happy for once. Although his confidence was still a fragile thing, he at least felt satisfied with his life.

Le Ping was secretly thrilled to hear the news and expressed his delight by placing a whoopee cushion on every chair Isumi sat in. The other Chinese pros were also pleased. They had grown to like Isumi, and recognized that he was improving more and more every day. His plateau was gone; his one regret was that he didn't miss Japan at all. Except for Waya. Maybe, if Waya hadn't been the only one who believed in him and helped his confidence, he would not have gone to China in the first place. But Waya was basically his only true friend, and now he was making many more in China.

He wondered how Waya would take the news.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Waya screamed at the computer when the email came through. "YOU FREAKING BASTARD, YOU CAN'T JUST _STAY_!"

His phone rang. It was the owner of the building, telling him that the other residents hoped he would shut up. This made Waya yell louder for a time, then collapse on his bed, thinking of the empty apartment next to them. He was alone, really. He could call up Fuku or Nase or Honda, but Isumi was his _best friend_, for God's sake!

Go really wasn't that fun anymore….

(And...the asterisks.)

Yeah, he felt for Waya and Isumi. That just _sucked_. Maybe, by helping Isumi and becoming another friend to Waya, he had helped. (And _maybe_ he was helping Waya get over his Touya's-a-bastard attitude. But since he also thought that sometimes – especially when he lost five in a row to the guy – he didn't help all that often.) Whatever. Their lives weren't destroyed. They could get over it…. Couldn't they?

(I now kill the asterisks.)

This is the first chapter I really like. The others were kind of build up until this point. I love Waya and Isumi. YAY. Please review! (Unfortunately, the next chapter is the only thing I haven't written yet. I'll get on it, I promise!) I apologize for the late updating, but I'm doing what I can. Pure Shikon can attest to the fact that the school I attend is quite rigorous; ergo, we get hours of homework. So, I'll do my best to get the next chapter out! Thanks again:)


	6. V: Fujiwara no Sai

After this chapter, there is just one more and then the epilogue. This is where things really start going downhill. By the way, if anyone thinks I own _Hikaru no Go_, and not Takeshi Obata or Yumi Hotta, I'll have to ask what you're taking. Seriously.

Please continue to read, and I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter!

(The asterisks still don't exist. I'm flummoxed.)

Chapter Five: Fujiwara no Sai

(So please forgive the invisible asterisks.)

But where was the friend that he missed most of all? The one who had disappeared so abruptly? As if in answer, the dream took him to Fujiwara no Sai.

(Miageta oozora no hoshi-tachi no hikari...lol. "Asterisk." Get it?)

Sai's face was lit with a smile as he played Go with the women of the Imperial Court. They always enjoyed having him come teach, always. Even if the rest of the palace came to hate him, he thought he would never tire of these visits. And he also enjoyed them because he was never interrupted.

Until one day, however: he was in the middle of a game when another man came rushing in.

"Fujiwara-sensei," he said, "the emperor has requested your presence."

Sai would have refused if it had been anyone but the emperor. He apologized profusely to his opponent, who smiled and told him not to mind, they could always finish later. He thanked her for her understanding and followed the other man back to the chambers of the emperor.

Many of his court were gathered there, along with the other Go master, who smirked at him as he entered. Sai was not quite sure why the other man disliked him so much. He valued the other teacher as a worthy opponent, even if he did win most of the time against him. But the other seemed to dislike Sai very much, a fact which Sai puzzled over often.

After going through the proper rituals when entering a room shared by the emperor, all in the room sat, deathly still. To Sai they resembled little more than ghosts, their faces invisible. He heard his opponent suggest they play a game.

Yet, before he finished the first word of his sentence, Sai sensed that it was not an ordinary request. There was malevolence behind it.

Sure enough, the next sentence came: "And the winner will keep his position."

Sai was speechless. To leave the palace…? But he almost never lost, and since the emperor approved, he accepted the game.

He remembered the game, every detail of it, but hated to dwell on it. Eventually, during his years inside a Go board, he summarized it to himself like this:

His opponent cheated and accused him of doing likewise.

Everyone agreed with his opponent.

He lost.

And that was the end of it.

However, he would relive that day for centuries to come, until God finally granted him an opportunity to return to the world.

(Kono monogatari wa kokoro no naka de tsuzuiteiru... More "Asterisk.")

How joyous he was! Little Torajirou loved Go, happily letting him play. Oh, they played a great many games together. Torajirou even won titles – Hon'inbou Shuusaku, they called him now!

There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, however – a feeling that his time with Torajirou would be cut short, just like his time with the women of the Court, just like his own life.

A sickness came, swift and deadly, striking almost everyone near Torajirou.

Sai begged him to leave quickly, before he too became ill.

"Sai," Torajirou said to him softly, "how could I abandon these people? I must care for them. I might not be able to play for a while. But don't worry, I'll still play you every day."

Sai had smiled and agreed that this arrangement was suitable.

One of their games (Torajirou was placing the stones for both of them on a board) was interrupted by loud, hacking coughs. Sai looked towards the door, expecting another sick patient coming to ask for Torajirou's help.

Instead, Torajirou fell over the Go board, clutching his chest as he coughed blood.

"Torajirou! _Torajirou_!"

His student did not answer, only coughed again, even harder this time.

"Get help – a doctor – why didn't you _say_ anything, Torajirou! You could have gotten help–"

Torajirou just smiled, looked at the board, and murmured, "I resign, Sai."

"You still could play – we're only halfway through. Torajirou! Think for a minute! What will I do if you're gone?"

"You'll find another person," Torajirou whispered. "Another – with whom you'll have time to play…the Divine Move. Sai…you'll live forever. Maybe…God will let me watch you play again someday…." The young man coughed violently, his entire body shook with the force.

"Torajirou, don't say such things! Torajirou? Answer me, _Torajirou_!"

But the man never replied, and Sai felt himself being pulled back into the board….

(Hitotsu! Kazoete susumeba ii... Woops, that's not "Asterisk." It's "My Pace." Oh, well. They're both used as theme songs for the same show.)

He mourned Torajirou for centuries. He wept so hard that the Go board was restained with tears that had faded away, the tears he had shed before he met Torajirou. His student's blood remained on the board, visible only to Sai, long after Torajirou's body was carried from the room and the Go board wiped clean.

Sai stayed this way for many years. He lost count around two hundred. He could not bear it much longer. He wished so hard to play Go again, if it would bring Torajirou's spirit back by playing in the style they had created together.

He played game after game, all the games he had ever played in his life – countless times. Then he went over all the games he had ever seen personally – countless times. Finally, he reviewed all the games he had ever heard of, or seen in a book, or that were replayed for him by other masters of the game – countless times.

And when he had done that, he prayed. He prayed for decades, centuries, with only one plea: _Please, let me play Go again. Just once more_.

Yet – just as he had felt before the other Go master, just as he had felt when he watched Torajirou care for those less fortunate than himself – he knew that his wish would never be granted.

(Futatsu! Kazoete yasumeba ii...)

He was never conscious of where the Go board he inhabited actually was. Once, someone tried to exorcise him. He was only aware of it afterwards, when he was in pain but yes, still in the Go board. He went over the images that he had seen as the priest had tried to remove him, the "malevolent spirit." It was a small building made of wood – a peasant's shack? A stable? He wasn't sure.

As a result of this attempted exorcism, however, he was able to glance into the world outside his Go board – the real world. This ability had its limits, however: he was able to see Go players (in strange new outfits with outrageously ridiculous machines), but not the boards. Not the games they played. Nothing but the players themselves.

Some of them were young – they were teenagers, around the age he began to become strong. He watched them for years, the group of young players, and mourned for them: they were unhappy. He saw the most promising of them leave, get too discouraged, burn out under pressure or unhappiness.

He saw himself in these players: they were him after he lost the last game he ever played at the palace.

But he could do nothing. He was trapped in a Go board. He couldn't even play with them, couldn't even see their games.

Instead of blessing him, God had cursed him again.

(Mittsu, kazoete kangaerya ii...)

He was distraught. The young ones he had been following for years were either dead (through accidents, natural causes, and a suicide), gone (to foreign countries or simply off the face of the earth), or had lost all spirit. There was no hope. And he had been unable to help any of them. He could not bear to watch the outside world any more.

He began to travel back to the Go board, in the direction of the building that he now knew was called a shed, and saw a spiral of black curling into the sky. Strange.

He continued home, in the same direction as the smoke. As he came into view of the yard, he realized what was on fire: the shed. _His_ shed. The shed with _his_ Go board in it.

But since he had no physical body (which was painfully obvious now, having come from trying one last time to get through to a distraught thirty-one-year-old that he had been watching since the boy was sixteen), he could do nothing once again.

Only be burned to death.

At least he would not have to watch those players suffer anymore. But he would have liked, just once, to see their games.

(Mai peesu de susumereba ii...)

Had he been awake, he would have realized he was crying. He was crying for the best friend he had ever had, for Sai. Now he was certain. Even though he had been hurt deeply by Sai's disappearance, he knew it was better for him to have lived, to have met Sai – and for Sai to have met him.

He was convinced. He did not want to see any more.

He had been hurt enough.

But he did not wake up.

(And thank God we've reached the end of the chapter because I don't know what else to put in place of the invisible asterisks.)

One more main chapter to go! Thanks very much for reading! (I'm actually pleased with this chapter, too. It didn't go through much editing, though – sorry!) Since I already have the next chapter written, I'll update within a week. Please review! (Reviews motivate me to update faster! I promise!) Again, please stick with the story and thanks for reading!


	7. VI: Touya Akira

"_Hikaru no Go" wo motteinai. Baka na bengoshi wa itsumo kokuso suru. MOTTEINAI__! Kiita ka? "Motteinai; Hotta-san to Obata-san ga 'Hikaru no Go' wo motteiru," to itta. Dakara…watashi wo nayamasenaide!_

Please enjoy the chapter! This is the longest, I think. Also, if you could please review, do so. After this chapter, only the epilogue is left. (By the way: Has anyone else been having trouble with the site lately? Half the time it says it can't access certain pages...grr. And the asterisks keep disappearing. Oh, well.)

Chapter Six: Touya Akira

He didn't want to watch anymore. Sai's fate had been too cruel. But the dream continued. How much more of this could go on…?

(xxx)

An image faded in: a room in what looked like a traditional Japanese house. There was a futon, a closet (supposedly holding clothes), a desk, many books shelves, and a Go board. A calendar sat on the desk with days crossed off. Three days before the date the calendar indicated, the message "8th birthday" was still readable.

A diffident voice, female, coming from outside the door: "Akira-san. Are you there?"

There was no one in the room. Suddenly, the boy in question emerged from the closet, trying to run and pull on socks at the same time. He looked slightly flustered and glanced at the clock. His expression changed to one of horror: the time was 8:57.

"Akira-san. We have to leave at nine in order to arrive at the Institute on time. Are you almost ready?" the same soft voice asked, almost seeming to hesitate.

"Yes, Mother." The boy hurriedly grabbed a bag from under the desk while straightening his second sock. He quickly ran to the door and slid it open. His mother was there, completely ready (except for the shoes) but patient with her small son.

"Let's go," said his mother. "If we hurry, you won't miss the start of the game."

He could have gone by himself, but this was an important day. His father was challenging the holder of the Kisei title today. He did not want to miss the game, which was set to start in a half an hour. Since his mother knew that many would be watching the match, she wanted to accompany her son, at least until she delivered him to Ogata or Ashiwara, who usually looked after the boy.

They arrived five minutes before the start of the match, which was long enough for his mother to safely hand him over to Ogata 7-dan. Ashiwara 2-dan was also there.

"Hey, Akira-kun," Ashiwara greeted as the boy's mother waved her thanks and departed. "Excited?"

"Yes, very much so. Am I late?" asked the small Akira, looking concerned.

"No," answered Ogata. "Sensei's match starts in…" He glanced at his watch and finished, "Three minutes."

"Oh, Akira-kun, I've been meaning to tell you – the pro test registration is open for this year," said Ashiwara.

"The pro test?" Akira said, looking puzzled. "Why would I take it this year?"

"You're good enough," Ogata muttered. "At least to make it to the upper half."

"Yeah, you're definitely good enough to try this year," Ashiwara said excitedly. "I mean, you beat me one of every five games! That's pretty good."

"But I can never win against Ogata-san or Father," pointed out Akira. "Besides, I am…too young. Mother says so."

"Talk to sensei about it," Ogata said, sounding distracted as he counted the seconds to the imminent game. "Two minutes."

"I think you should try this year," pressed Ashiwara.

"No…my play isn't good enough yet."

"Stop being so humble, Akira-kun! You're good enough!"

"I think I should improve before I take it."

"You'll improve as you take it."

"I shouldn't – what would everyone say? I'm young and not strong enough."

"_Akira-kun_, how many times am I going to have to say it?"

"_Quiet_!" Ogata snapped. "Fifteen seconds…"

"He's too stressed," commented Ashiwara. "And he isn't even playing."

"I don't blame Ogata-san. I am apprehensive as well," Akira said.

"Have you been reading those books again?" Ashiwara asked suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Those older books," said Ashiwara. "The ones that my friends in high school read."

"Yes. They're interesting. I really do enjoy them, Ashiwara-san; I've already finished the six that were given to me for my birthday. Why do you ask?"

Ashiwara sighed. "You're old enough. You _talk_ like you're old enough, anyway."

"Why aren't they starting?" Ogata hissed. "They're _five seconds late_."

Suddenly, a stone was placed on the board. Everyone there (some thirty people) crowded around the tiny television screen in the room that was reserved for those who were not officially taking part in the match.

The discussion quickly began….

(xxx)

"You're going to take it this year, right? Aren't you, Akira-kun?" Ashiwara said.

They were at the Go salon owned by Touya Meijin (and Kisei, and some other title).

"No, I don't think so," Akira said contemplatively.

"I'm sure you're good enough, Akira-kun," Ichikawa Harumi said as she placed two cups of tea beside the Go players. "You're up to one out of four games with Ashiwara-sensei now!"

"Akira-sensei is taking the test this year?" Hirose, one of the older regulars, said as he walked over.

"No, no," Akira said, flushing and shaking his head. "I'm only ten. That's not nearly old enough. And…if I did pass, there wouldn't…."

"Wouldn't what?" Hirose and Ichikawa asked.

"Ah, I get it," Ashiwara said, setting his fist on the table. "There wouldn't be anyone for you to play…not really. They're plenty of guys like me – but Akira-kun doesn't have any peers."

"Peers in strength!" Hirose protested.

"Not in age," Ichikawa pointed out.

Akira was quiet, as usual. People often talked about him in this way, even if he was sitting in front of them. He would not take the professional Go players test this year. His mother said he was too young. He had not discussed it with his father. Akira had decided not to broach the subject, because if his father said he should take the test, he would. Because Father said so, of course – but he still would not feel ready.

He wanted to find something before he turned pro. He was not sure what he was looking for. But there was something. He was not consciously aware of this vague desire, but it was there, and caused his hesitation.

(xxx)

By the time Akira was eleven, he had nearly given up on finding another child like him. Of course, he had never admitted that a rival his age was what he was looking for (not even to himself). In fact, he had even flat-out denied it. But since there was no one, however, he thought that maybe he should do the pro test this year. The final catalyst that caused him to decide to finally take it was meeting another boy – what was his name? He couldn't remember – the boy who had won the Children's Meijin Tournament. He did not compete in such tournaments; his father had said that his strength would discourage other children from playing. Maybe – if those children kept playing – someday….

But the other boy, who had wanted to beat him so badly, had lost miserably. He hadn't been that good at all. And if if that boy was considered one of the best of the children considering going pro, then he himself could certainly pass the test. He would stand someday at the top of the Go world, with Father, with Ogata-san.

So he took the test, with much fanfare and excitement and news but without a single loss. He won game after game once he finally turned pro. He rose through the ranks, and for a while, he was happy. He progressed greatly as he drove himself to improve – improve for the person who never appeared. His imaginary rival – his imaginary friend.

(xxx)

A nine-dan at seventeen. It was nearly unheard of. Everyone was going on about how they were _so proud_, _so impressed_, _so in awe of the great strength in the new wave coming into the Go world_.

Despite his knowledge that he should do interviews and help the image of Go, he hid from those who showered compliments on him the best he could. Often, he would go to his apartment and simply collapse, unable to sleep but equally unable to bring himself to look at anything related to Go – which was practically everything.

He earned more money than he knew what to do with. He had wanted to do something with it, so he had purchased (not rented) the apartment. It was only a few blocks from the Japanese Go Association building. His mother had protested that he was too young and had let him move with the condition that he came home every day for dinner.

He did not eat the dinner, however. He played a game with his father, whom he now faced evenly. He won almost half the time, even when he played white for days at a time. After the game, it would be so late that he would insist on going home, promising his mother to eat once he arrived there.

He never did. He ate breakfast, skipped lunch, and maybe had an apple or rice ball in the late afternoon. That was always enough to carry him through to the next day, and the next, and the next….

He barely had time to complete his homework now. He had decided to attend high school, a decision he partially regretted. But it was an escape. He only attended for one day a week (when he would turn in all the work from the week before and begin to catch up once again), but it was seven hours of isolation. None of the other students spoke to him; none of his own students were allowed to phone him; the only event that he would let interrupt his days was an emergency, and there had never been any.

School gave him an opportunity to think, and today's topic was _why is the world so empty_. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore. All the games seemed the same – even the games with Ogata-san, and Ashiwara-san, and the title-holders. Only those games with his father in the evenings were enjoyable.

He wanted to play _someone_. He did not know who. _Anyone_, his mind sometimes screamed. _Anyone_ who would know me, understand my game – and I his – but that would still be a challenge, a new game, every time.

Something he would have to work for, and keep working for, someone with whom he could play the Hand of God, the Divine Move.

He turned away from thinking and back to his calculus exam.

(xxx)

The days flew by, nothing significant, nothing worth mentioning or living for. Except when his father had a minor heart attack when he was nineteen. He had been afraid – just like a child, he had been so terrified that his father would die, leaving him with nothing. No, he would leave memories and games and teaching, but he would be gone.

After his heart attack, Touya Meijin recovered, then promptly retired. His five titles were now up for grabs. Kuwabara Hon'inbou also retired about the same time. Often, the two older men could be seen playing a game in parks or at Go salons. They went incognito, calling each other by fake names and enjoying themselves. But if anyone actually bothered to watch the game – well, they would simply find a new place to play in peace, without all the pressures of the professional Go world.

By twenty-one, he held two titles. He had first achieved the Meijin, so now he was called Touya Meijin and he kept turning around, looking for his father. He could not get used to it.

By twenty-four, he had four. Every game with his father held the pressure of a title match – sometimes even more so. They played less and less often: the mental strain was too much for both of them some days.

He graduated from college (he had taken only a few classes every semester, resulting in taking six years to complete the requirements for a bachelor's degree). He stopped going to regular school altogether; his days were filled with games, study sessions (still held at his father's house), and teaching his own young students.

And yet it was _so empty_.

He was doing so much to try to fill his life, and yet…nothing.

One day, he did not have an official game, and the only student who came on Tuesdays had fallen ill and could not come. He had absolutely nothing to do.

He felt hopelessly lost, and went for a walk.

As he walked past the Go Association, he was waylayed by Ogata.

"Good afternoon, Ogata-san," he said.

"Akira-kun, it's been a while," said Ogata. (The man had known him since the moment of his birth and had never called him anything but "Akira-kun." Likewise, Akira never called him anything but "Ogata-san." Their official titles were Ogata Juudan and Touya Meijin – Junior, some said jokingly – but they never used them.)

"Only a few weeks," said Akira.

"My game isn't for a few hours. Sushi?" Ogata asked.

"All right," Akira said. The two walked to the sushi restaurant close to the Ki-in. After Ogata ordered, the older pro looked expectantly at Akira.

"Just water," said the younger.

"Not hungry?" Ogata said, after the waiter had left.

"No." Akira looked out the window. "Not really."

"You should get into the habit of eating lunch," suggested Ogata.

"I _never_ eat between periods in a game. After going pro, all the games are split." Akira still avoided the look he knew Ogata was directing at him.

"You'll have to defend your title in a few weeks," Ogata reminded him. "You _do_ eat between two-day games, Akira-kun."

Akira shook his head. "I don't. No use."

Ogata looked concerned now and began to smoke a cigarette. "Have some sushi," he said.

Akira shrugged apathetically. "Not hungry."

"You haven't been yourself for months," said Ogata. He hesitated before saying quietly, "Is anything the matter, Akira-kun?"

"Why do you and Ichikawa-san and Ashiwara-san _all_ say that?" Akira suddenly exclaimed. "I really am quite well, thank you, Ogata-san. I must be going. You have your game, I have my students." With that, he rose and left.

He was not all right, and he knew it. There was something he could not reach, no matter how many games he played and won, no matter how many titles he had – even games with his father had begun to grow dull and tiring.

He did not know what to do, so he simply returned to his apartment.

Once there, he made a grocery list (soap, rice, miso, socks), checked his email, read online newspapers – anything to keep him busy. Around four o'clock, he finally gave up and took a sleeping pill.

At his last check-up, his doctor had decreed that he was an insomniatic workaholic. He wasn't. He was infinitely glad he had not mentioned the fact that he was hardly ever hungry, because his doctor had made so much fuss about the first two conditions that if he had added a third…he stopped thinking about it. There was nothing truly wrong with him. He was just searching…searching….

(xxx)

Twenty-five. Another title. Another year of _nothing_.

He could not bear the nothing. He worked harder. He played more and more, loving and hating the game that was the air he breathed, the blood that ran through his veins. He thought that he would never find what he was looking for, no matter how hard he tried. Still, he carried on.

Until the day his father died.

He was in the middle of a game to defend the Kisei title when it happened. He was not informed over the lunch break, but was taken aside after the discussion of the game (and, as the victor, he had to attend to explain his moves) and quietly informed that his father was in the hospital due to another heart attack.

"When?" he asked.

"Earlier this morning," was the reply.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" he demanded, angry. He would rather have left the game and lost. His father was the only opponent he could truly play now. His childish enthusiasm, his young love from the game, the Akira-ness that he had given up on many years ago when no one had appeared – he could only find it again through his father.

"We – we thought you wouldn't like to be interru–"

Akira turned and ran out the door. He caught a cab, which sped him to the hospital. His father had been in a coma for hours; he died later that night. Akira never had an opportunity to say anything more to him.

Emptiness was not filled, rather expanded by, his consequent despair. The funeral was to be in three days.

He went to his apartment and penned a letter.

(xxx)

There was a fierce storm in three days' time. He had sent the letter two days beforehand. Everything had been arranged. He arrived, barely on time. The funeral passed in a blur. He later recalled nothing, except for a conversation immediately afterwards:

Ogata, Ashiwara, and Ichikawa gathered about him, and his mother was standing a little farther apart, looking forlorn.

"I'll drive you back to the house," Ogata offered.

"We'll come with," volunteered Ashiwara, indicating that "we" also included Ichikawa with a gesture.

"I will go back to my apartment," said Akira, "to get a few things. Then I'll take the train to the house. But if you would take Mother…."

The other three nodded.

"Are you sure you don't want one of us to come with you?" Ashiwara asked him, looking worried.

"No, I'll be all right," Akira said, his voice monotonous. The world was blank and dull and colorless. He did not want to bother with hosting anyone. They would not expect his mother to, but he had always been considered mature enough to deal with _everything_, even grief.

He was not perfect, or complete. He mused on this as he walked in the rain back to his apartment. The wind was ferocious; the cars in the street were going too fast, in his opinion. He heard on the radio (in a store window he passed) that drivers should get off the road quickly.

He entered his apartment and removed his coat. He was soaked through anyway. He sat on the futon, deciding to watch a bit of television before he proceeded with his shower. Maybe it would distract him…just a little….

He nearly had to squint to see the tiny screen. He rarely watched television, and when he did he never minded the small image. He turned up the volume and heard, "The storm has already claimed nine lives through two separate accidents. In one case, a small van could not see the edge of the road due to weather conditions and fell into a revine. The driver and front-seat passenger were both killed, and identified as…."

He closed his eyes and felt ashamed of himself. For as he heard the deaths announced, he had thought, "My father was more important. That is not on television…." Of course, it had been tragic news in the Go world. The damn Go world that could never satisfy him, could never give him back all that he poured into it – it was all in vain.

"A second accident that occurred fifteen minutes ago involved another van and a red sports car. Some of the rain on the roads has turned to ice. The van lost control due to the slippery conditions and collided with the sports car. The driver of the van and the four in the sports car were killed…."

Akira reopened his eyes and brought them close to the screen. The news showed the close-up of the destroyed vehicles. When the camera zoomed in on the sports car, Akira felt sick.

He had always memorized license plates of those he knew. He had read an article on kidnappings using similar cars to acquaintances when he was six, and had been scared into etching plates into his memory. License plates could not be faked, and every single vehicle that had ever been owned by anyone had unique numbers assigned to them. It had been simple to remember them.

Those plates belonged to Ogata Seiji, holder of the Juudan and Gosei titles.

Nothing was left. Nothing. And he had never found what he was searching for.

(xxx)

The police were searching for the next-of-kin to one of the women killed in the accident. Their investigation led them to the residence of Touya Akira Meijin, a famous Go player, age 25. Since he had not answered phone calls, a detective had decided to stop by the house. He opened the door. A young man lay on the futon in the front room, his hand resting on top of a Go board.

_At the Ki-in, Amano, a senior administrator, was sorting through the mail. He picked up a letter from Touya Akira Meijin immediately. That was strange – why would a pro with an enormous amount of influence bother to send a letter by ordinary mail?_

The detective quickly called for backup. The police arrived at the apartment shortly. The tears on the man's face were not yet dry, but his body was already cold.

_Amano was shocked beyond belief as he read, "I, Touya Akira Meijin, hereby resign from the professional Go community as of this moment."_

He had died from an overdose of sleeping pills. There was an empty bottle in the trash. Based on witness statements, he had bought it a week before. He apparently always did, since (according to his medical records) he was a chronic insomniac.

_The news was announced. The Go world was stunned. They wondered why, why?_

Suicide was never considered. His death was listed under "accidental overdose."

What fools they all were. Maybe the one he had always searched for would have understood. Maybe then they would have been able to play the Hand of God, the Divine Move. But now, finally, it was not be empty. Even death could not be so empty….

(xxx)

Hikaru finally awoke with tears running down his face. He could not ignore this. He rose and went out into the night.

(xxx)

This is, by far, my favorite chapter. It was the first one I wrote, actually. The epilogue is not done yet, and as I'm quite busy, I'm not sure when I'll get it up - but rest assured that I will post as soon as I can! Again, thanks for reading and please review!


	8. Epilogue

Blank no Go

A.N.: I earnestly apologize for the delay! My excuse: I began to write this but did not like it. In order to yield a higher quality, I scrapped it and took my time rewriting. The epilogue is the result. This is officially the last chapter. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

For the last time: Hikaru no Go is not mine. Thank you.

(And the asterisks continue to disappear. As Hatsuharu from _Furuba_ says, "A mystery..."

Epilogue

(888 Asterisks without the "shift" key)

He ran through the streets, not bothering with the train. He knew he could make it to Touya's apartment in around a half hour. It was by the Ki-in. There were disturbing similarities between that dream and Touya's real life. He could not ignore that.

When he finally arrived, out of breath, he could see that the light in Touya's window was on. There was his silhouette, leaned over a book. Occasionally, he could see the shadow lift a pencil and mark the paper that was sticking out of the text.

He took out his cell phone and looked at the time. What the hell was Touya doing up at half past three in the morning?

Then again…what the hell was _he_ doing up at half past three in the morning?

Making sure Touya hadn't committed suicide on him. Right.

He wondered how to tell Touya he was standing outside his window after having a horrible nightmare without sounding childish – or like a creepy stalker.

Screw it. He dialed.

He watched the figure in the window jump slightly and glance away from the window, in the direction of the phone. He saw Touya's figure put the book down and stand, a shadow somehow managing to look disbelieving and annoyed at the same time.

"Yes, who is it?" he heard three seconds after he saw a dark hand pick up a phone.

"Um, hey," he said lamely.

"Shindou, what on _earth_ are you doing, calling me now? What is it?"

Yeah, Touya was a bit annoyed. Well, too bad. "What are _you_ doing? You shouldn't be reading at three-thirty in the morning!"

There was a pause. "Where exactly are you, Shindou?" Touya's voice asked calmly.

"Um…outside?"

A few moments later, Touya's curtains were thrown open and they could easily see each other.

"I'm not sure what to say," Touya's voice came through the phone as he watched the mouth move in the window. "Come in, I suppose…."

He watched as the phone was put down and heard the dial tone. Touya was still waiting in the window.

He took a deep breath, willing Touya not to be too angry or weirded out or whatever Touya might be feeling too much of. He walked into the building and pushed open the door that led to the apartment.

As he took off his shoes, Touya held out a glass of water and said, "Yesterday was the fifth."

"Yeah, so what?" he responded, not taking the drink. "Not like you cared, right?"

Touya set the glass down on a counter and continued to look at him. "You're never around on the fifth of May."

"Again, so?"

"I figured that you would not want to be bothered, but apparently it's perfectly fine to bother me," Touya concluded, sitting back down at the desk by the window and shutting his book. Hikaru could read the front cover; it was a textbook, as he suspected. Touya did not look at him as he straightened his notes, which Hikaru could see where organized by chapter, section, and difficulty.

Suddenly he saw again the dream-Touya, staring at his calculus exam and pondering why life was so empty. He remembered why he had capriciously decided to come.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.

Touya turned around, slight confusion evident in his expression. "I thought that I was going to be the one to ask that," he said quietly. "Of course. Could that not have waited until tomorrow morning?"

"When you would've been sleeping or something? Nah."

"I have a game tomorrow morning."

"Then what the hell are you doing up!"

"I ask the same of you, Shindou – I seem to recall you have one scheduled at the same time."

He suddenly remembered that he did. "Right," he said. "Answer my question first."

"I'm studying," Touya said resolutely. "Nothing more."

"_At_ _three thirty-six in the morning_!"

"Better than spying on those who are. What are you doing here, Shindou?"

"Making sure you don't turn into a crazy workaholic anorexic emo maniac!"

Touya blinked, stood up again, and pushed the glass of water into Hikaru's hands. "Drink that," he advised. "And I do not consider myself to be what you described."

"Well, you could've been," Hikaru informed him.

Touya stared at him, obviously wondering whether or not he should inquire if Hikaru was insane.

"No, seriously," said Hikaru, actually drinking some water. "And you shouldn't be studying now – you'll _never_ remember anything."

"Would you like me to recite these word for word to you?" Touya asked him, holding out the fat stack of notes. "I can, you know. I have an exam tomorrow, after my game."

"Do you do this every night? Stay up this late?"

"No. That would be foolish, to do this every day. Really, Shindou, I know how much sleep I need. If you came all the way here at this hour just to make sure I'm not sleep deprived (although I might be _now_), then–"

"I had a dream, okay? And in it you really scared me – you _killed yourself_ – and I just wanted to make sure you weren't crazy, damn it!" Hikaru then realized what he had said. God, he sounded so childish: _I had a horrible nightmare so I had to make sure everybody was okay_….

But Touya simply nodded. He walked to the kitchen area of the apartment and began removing various foods and pans from cupboards.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking," replied Touya. He glanced back at Hikaru. "As long as you're here, I might as well make something."

"I'm not that hungry," said Hikaru, but (as usual) his stomach betrayed him by growling. He hadn't eaten much the previous day; he had been too preoccupied with remembering Sai. He admitted, "Okay, yeah, maybe I'd want a little something, but – you can _cook_?"

Touya shrugged. "Of course I can cook. I live by myself, and takeout gets old. Besides, who ever said my father taught me everything I know? Mother is an excellent cook."

Hikaru nearly laughed. "Do you have–"

"No, I do _not_ have ramen," interrupted Touya. "Deal with Chinese."

"Chinese that's not takeout?"

"_Yes_." Touya's head disappeared as he searched in the back of a cabinet.

Hikaru wandered over to where Touya was looking in cabinets. To his relief, they were full of food, not nearly empty like in the dream. A similar inspection of the refrigerator yielded the same result.

"Are you an insomniac?" Hikaru asked suddenly.

Touya turned from where he was manipulating the stove and simply stared. "No," he said hesitatingly. "Again, you're asking strange questions…. But let me guess: I was an insomniac in that dream, is that it?"

"Um, yeah," said Hikaru. He laughed a little as he said, "But dreams aren't true, right?"

"Yes," Touya agreed softly. "I dreamed that perhaps on the fifth you mourn for Sai. But that is ridiculous. I did not intend to tell you."

"Did you see Sai?" Hikaru asked earnestly, not caring that would make Touya suspicious.

"No. You were just holding that fan you always have, that's all. Standing somewhere, I don't remember. I think in the dream I knew it was Innoshima. But as I said, that's ridiculous. I thought of calling you, but if you were indeed busy, I didn't want to interrupt." Touya began to fry unidentifiable things in a pan; Hikaru hoped they were edible. "And yes, this is what some food looks like before it's cooked."

"Are you kidding? Take-out originally is _this_?"

"Yes." Touya added something green to the mix. It sizzled.

After a few moments of silence, Hikaru asked, "Was there anything else? About Sai?"

"I don't know why I thought Sai was there. I don't even know who he is. I just knew – in the dream – that you were not Sai, that you were in Innoshima, and that you were…sad," Touya finished, obviously finding his own dream childish. "Speaking of which–"

"I don't – I don't know Sai!" Hikaru exclaimed.

"Liar," said Touya calmly, stirring with a wooden spoon. "You can barely bring yourself to say it."

"He's dead, what does it matter!"

Touya glanced at him. "What matters is that your Go is his. You said so yourself. If you're really a part of Sai – or your Go is – then he still lives…through Go."

"You always – relate _everything_ – to Go," Hikaru managed to say, struggling to appear unfazed.

"I suppose Sai did as well." Touya fiddled with knobs on the stove and added some other unknown spice. "Do you want anything other than chicken lo mein?"

"That doesn't look like lo mein. It doesn't have noodles."

"That's because I haven't started the lo mein yet, Shindou."

"Then what's _that_?" asked Hikaru, pointing to the pan.

"My own invention."

"Trying to poison me?"

"I'll eat it first. I never subject anyone to cooking experiments unless they have, like Ogata-san, a masochistic streak. And unless they have, like Ogata-san, very strange tastes." Touya continued stirring with one hand while reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a package of noodles with the other.

"Sai played him once."

"Who, Ogata-san? I never saw the kifu – and I know _all_ Sai's kifu, Shindou."

Hikaru covered his mouth with a hand. "Oh shit," he muttered.

"Ogata-san doesn't remember the game – let me guess, he was drunk – and you were there. You saw it," said Touya.

"Yeah."

"But you are not Sai. I am sure of that," Touya said, almost to himself.

"Yeah."

Touya let out a breath. "All the conclusions I'm coming to can't possibly–"

"Wanna bet?" Hikaru said suddenly, surprised at how bitter he sounded.

"Since you just said that, not particularly. Not that I think you'd tell the truth if I actually guessed," said Touya. "You've always lied about Sai, Shindou."

"I was telling the truth – I'm _not_ Sai!"

"Of course," Touya murmured, managing to stir, chop, and pour ingredients with only two hands. "Whatever you say."

"I'm _not_! I knew him, but I'm _not_ him!" Hikaru yelled, practically in Touya's face. The other pro had _no idea_ about Sai – none at all!

Actually, that wasn't true. But it sounded strangely satisfying in Hikaru's head. Touya had come closer to the truth than anyone, including Ogata and even Touya ex-Meijin. Now, however, was not the time to admit it.

"You told me you didn't know Sai. My father would never tell me the truth, either. I haven't come to expect it," Touya said honestly, deciding to largely ignore Hikaru's outburst. "Hold this." He shoved a bottle of something in Hikaru's hands; the other took it and glanced at the covered counter, realizing why he had been called on.

"What – what were your conclusions?" Hikaru asked, stunning himself.

"Nothing important. As I said before, if I said them without being able to find out if they were true, it'd just be foolish." Touya deftly took the first dish off the stove, poured it contents onto a waiting plate, and put a new pot in its place with his other hand.

"Will you answer something different, then?"

Touya eyed him, barely betraying his confusion and concern for his friend's sanity. "I suppose," he finally answered.

"If I had never existed, then what?"

Touya refilled Hikaru's glass, handed it to him, and commanded, "Sit down. If you're thinking of killing yourself, go get help. _Please_. I'll not have your death on my conscience."

"No, it's not that – just answer the damn question!"

"If, if – who knows? Why bother worrying? What happened, happened. And we're probably the better for it. But if you're so determined…I don't know. 'Then what' is rather vague." Touya now turned his attention back to the second dish.

"No – just take…you. Or somebody."

"I'll take 'you' since 'somebody' is also too vague." Touya was silent for a few moments; Hikaru did not interrupt his thinking. Finally, Touya said contemplatively, "I would have kept moving forward, I think. Maybe not as fast. Maybe my playing style would have been different. I would have been saved quite a lot of trouble, certainly. If you had never existed…I wouldn't have as many opponents. As many _good_ opponents. I wouldn't have…a…." Touya stopped.

"A rival," he finally said, as if it almost hurt to admit. He nearly turned on Hikaru, as if to blame him for the confession: "If that helps any, say so – as I have no idea, really. What a pointless question…."

"It helps," Hikaru whispered.

"Who is Sai?"

Hikaru jerked his head up to look at Touya, who was staring at him determinedly.

"Tell me, Shindou," he said simply.

"Sai's not–" Hikaru stopped and could not find the willpower to continue. He took a drink from his second glass of water instead. "Look, tell me what you think first."

Touya's face showed his anger. "_Fine_. If that is what it takes for you to actually tell me or for you to leave, _fine_."

"Yeah," Hikaru agreed.

"Sai…existed. But only you could see him, mostly – I haven't worked out all of it yet. He needed you to play. If he wished, he could tell you where to play in your games." Touya wore a look of intense concentration, the same he had during games. "Sai was a master of Go. He was not a child, but had been playing Go for decades, at least."

Hikaru could only nod. In a way, he could easily accept that Touya had figured all of that out. He had had years to think on it, after all, and he had steadily gathered clues all the way.

"Sai taught you to play Go. Without Sai, I doubt you would have ever picked up a stone. You played Sai so often your style became like his. You stopped having Sai play – and _you_ played instead. That explains your games with me before we were both professional players. It also explains the Internet Go – you wanted to have Sai play, but not in a way that would incriminate you. And I almost caught you at it." Touya's face darkened at the memory but he continued, although with hesitancy, "The only solution that I can think of is this: Sai was – is, I don't know – a spirit. A specter, a phantom, a ghost. A ghost who could play Go.

"But of course that's ridiculous," he finished. He looked over to Hikaru, whose head was in his hands, which were shaking.

"Damn, Touya – you knew all along, didn't you!" Hikaru cried, his voice muffled.

Touya's mouth dropped open. "I – I made a _speculation_, Shindou. I certainly didn't _know_."

Hikaru looked up, the palms of his hands and face wet. "How much else?" he whispered, voice taut and hoarse.

"Sai died – disappeared – left – whatever word it is – on the fifth of May. And you reserve that day to mourn for him. Although I am unsure how a ghost dies, it must have happened somehow.

"That explains why you didn't play right after you went pro. Sai must have…gone…after he played my father on the Internet. When you came back, you wanted to keep Sai there, through Go. And you bought that little fan. That's the only part I can't figure out." Touya shrugged. "Perhaps that has nothing to do with it."

"N-no," Hikaru choked out. "He – had one of those. The real ones."

Touya took the second pot off the stove and set it on a cloth on the table. He looked again at Hikaru's face and went to a cabinet. He removed three folding boards and stones, and also brought over the nice set he kept in the middle of the room. He placed all four in front of Shindou. He placed Sai's first game in the modern world on the first. The second, the game where Sai had completely defeated him. The third, Sai's game online with Touya Meijin. The fourth Touya remained empty.

"Do you suppose Sai would mind that it is the sixth, one day late?" he asked finally, removing the covers of the Go bowls.

Hikaru shrugged, refusing to look towards Touya. His eyes remained fixated on the three games Touya had displayed.

"We will play in his honor. _Nigiri_, Shindou."

Hikaru knew he was not leaving the house without playing the game. He let out a shaky sigh and sat in Seiza across from Touya, who waited patiently with one or two stones in his hand. Hikaru didn't know which.

They played. Simply played. They made it all the way through the endgame and counted points.

"That game was worthy of him," Touya said. "Compare this game – the one we have just made – to his others."

Hikaru did so, and found that their combined strength – the strength that truly came forth when he and Touya played each other – was inching closer and closer to Sai's.

"You're right," Hikaru admitted quietly.

"I want to hear about Sai later, if you can tell me," Touya said, not dispersing the stones but sitting back and gazing at the game again. "The next time, though – don't come at three in the morning."

Hikaru glanced towards the clock; it was six forty-five. Sunlight was beginning to wade through Touya's curtains and make its way into the room.

"I guess the food's cold," he said.

"Take it with you," suggested Touya. "I don't need it. _You_, on the other hand – ramen is only good for so many days in a row."

"Blasphemy," Hikaru said. He and Touya stood at the same moment. Both crossed to where the untouched food lay. Hikaru stirred it around experimentally while Touya unearthed styrofoam containers.

Hikaru beheld them and said, "HAH! You _do _eat take-out!"

Touya shrugged. "I can't make sushi as well as the place I get it from."

They proceeded to package the food in silence. Hikaru picked up the two flimsy boxes and walked toward the room. He sat to pull on his shoes and Touya held open the door for him without a word.

Hikaru walked out and glanced back at Touya, who stared intently at him.

"You know, Shindou," he said softly, "if you had not existed – neither Sai nor I, nor any of your other friends, would have had what we most needed. Your Go. _Hikaru no Go_."

Hikaru stood in front of the closed door a long time after Touya quietly shut it.

Eventually, when the light in the sky was too high to ignore, he picked up the two little styrofoam boxes with Touya's Chinese food, and began to walk home. He had a game in two hours, but not an exam after. He smiled a little, thinking he might coerce Touya into eating lunch by offering to pay at the nearest sushi place.

As a grin spread across his face and tears ran down his cheeks, he knew that in the day's game he would continue to honor Sai – and that Sai would live, not just through memories, but through his Go. Hikaru's Go.

The End.

(888)

A.N. In order to clarify, _Hikaru no go _is literally "Hikaru's Go." Ergo the significance of the title and Touya's statement in this chapter. Now to the real author's notes: Thank you very much, those of you who stuck with the story! Kudos to Yui-Mag and Pure Shikon for encouraging this idea, and everyone who reviewed. If you liked this fic, I would suggest going to Yui-Mag's profile and clicking on the angst Hikaru no Go fics. They are amazing. Also, I have written another HnG angst, _You May Play the Divine Move_, if you are interested in my own humble writing. Again, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!


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